Done Right
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: The morning after the stake out, there are a few things that need to be discussed - sequel to Out


There is something glorious about waking up after a night of satisfying sex. Illya yawned into his pillow and thought about opening his eyes. The air in the room was still and heavy with smells - sweat, sex and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. No matter, it would come to him. He smiled at the double entendre

It certain had come to him last night. Judging from the heaviness of his limbs, a half familiar burn that lingered on the fringes of his memory, vague and sweet. A hand crawled over his side and Illya smiled again. _Not alone…even better_ he thought and as it dipped to fondle his genitals, he sighed. _And impertinent - excellent._ There was nothing he liked better than an encore performance of a brilliant night of love making. Those talented fingers started to dance in just the right way. _Not shy and experienced. My cup runs over._

He pressed back in the bed, feeling an odd nudge in the small of his back. _That's strange…it feels like a…_ Illya's eyes flew open and he bolted upright.

"NAPOLEON!"

Napoleon studied him from his position beside him in bed. "Yes, Illya?"

The night's activities came cascading back to him and Illya moved further away on the bed, knowing that his face must be broadcasting a dozen messages at the moment.

"Not suddenly shy, are you?" Napoleon leaned back onto his pillows and stretched. "You weren't last night. I don't know that I've actually done half the things we did last night…you, my friend, should come with a warning label."

"What? How?" Illya was panting just a bit now, his mind still vainly trying to assemble the pieces. "No, I don't mean that literally. I know what and how."

"Of that I have no question." Napoleon blinked sleepily at him and held out a hand. "Now where were we? Oh yes…" He slid a little closer and Illya edged away in the opposite direction, one leg over the edge of the bed to keep from falling off.

"Obviously, we had a problem," Napoleon said. He held up his hands in a classic 'I surrender' pose. "Okay, get back in bed; I'll keep my hands to myself. Talk to me, Illya. What's wrong?"

_Yes, Illya Nichovich, what is wrong? You had no trouble last night accommodating him. _His body sang to him of a dozen tiny aches, pain earned in the most ancient and satisfying of ways. _ What is your problem? _

"This can't end well," Illya said, resettling back against the pillows. I can think of a dozen reasons why we shouldn't have done what we did. And only one reason why we did."

"Which was?" Napoleon seemed to be willing to listen, even though his eyes continued to travel up and down Illya's body, studying, cataloging, almost caressing him.

The thought made Illya's stomach flip flop. Or it could be that he just needed coffee. "The need to burn off some tension."

"Huh…" Napoleon considered that for a long moment. "And was that how it felt last night?"

_No, it felt wonderful, I felt connected for the first time in a long time, in step with a world that I am constantly out of sync with and that was the problem. The dichotomy that I fight within my own skin – the need to love and be loved and unwilling to pay the price for it. To love means to suffer loss. I've had a lifetime of goodbyes already and I won't say good bye to you as well, Napoleon. _ For the sake of their partnership, their friendship, he said, merely, "What we did was wrong, Napoleon."

"How can you say that? It didn't feel wrong last night. It doesn't feel wrong now."

"I'm not saying it didn't feel good – just the opposite. That's the problem. When something feels so right…it just…this wouldn't end well for either of us."

"Who said anything about ending? Granted I could use a shower and a bit more recovery time, but I'm willing if you are. I have no plans to end this." Napoleon's gaze dropped to Illya's lap and Illya grabbed a pillow, holding it protectively in front of him. Napoleon backed off slightly. "Or are you worried about what the Old Man will say?"

"Partially, but not particularly."

"There's no policy against it – as long as we don't try to get married."

Illya's laugh was a bark, sharp and brittle. "Right I can just imagine Waverly loving this announcement. By the way, your two top agents are bent – I can just see the look on the faces of the rest of the Section One leaders. It's bad enough he has to contend with one of us."

Napoleon's smile was a little sad. "So you knew all along, did you?" He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I thought I was doing a pretty good job."

"Knew what, Napoleon? I was referring to myself."

"Incredible…how long have we been partners?"

"Too long, some would say."

"And I didn't know and you didn't know." Napoleon shook his head ruefully, chuckling. "It's amazing they don't make us turn in our spy badges."

"I am confused, Napoleon." Illya thought furiously for a moment, then the fog bank lifted and he nodded. "You were unaware of my predilection?"

"Right back at you, partner. Guess we were just too good at pretending to be something we aren't. But by my reckoning, it's too late for denials any longer, my friend." Napoleon's voice was velvet cream flowing over satin and silk. "All those things we did, all the things we said…or are you going to take back your promise?"

"What promise?"

"No regrets." Napoleon reached out and Illya sat still for the caress, letting the fingers drift through his tousled hair. "My only regret is that I waited so long." He stopped his hand at the back of Illya's neck. "Tell me why you think it's wrong…do you mean the act itself? The fact that we're both men?"

"No, of course not." He felt his body responding to his partner's nearness. "It changes equipoise between us."

"How so?''The hand restarted its journey. "I see it more as just an addition to what we already have, a new facet to what already exists." Napoleon was very close now. Illya felt him nuzzling an ear. "We're willing to pay an extreme price at a moment's notice. No guarantee we'll even be alive tomorrow. Shouldn't we be allowed a little pleasure, some momentary happiness? I've seen the sort of women you take to bed, Illya - strong, capable, intelligent. Had it ever occurred to you that you were merely looking for a socially acceptable substitute for what you really craved?"

Illya pressed against him relaxing back against those talented hands and that capable body. "You missed your calling. The way you twist things around, you should have run for public office."

"Didn't like the hours and I hate kissing…babies." Napoleon leaned his forehead against Illya's "What say we adjourn and take this to the shower? Or do you still want to debate this further?"

"And you think Waverly would acquiesce to this?"

"Screw Waverly."

"No, thank you. The mere suggestion conjurers up a very unappealing mental image." Illya felt his resolve cracking further. Napoleon had watched his back for years, who better to guard his heart. "You were saying?"

"Shower?"

"Mmm, water sports, one of my favorite pastimes," Illya admitted with a lazy smile.

"Thought you'd see things my way…eventually."

****

Illya smiled and relaxed back into his lover's capable arms.

"Happy, my love?" Napoleon murmured, kissing Illya's temple.

"After all this time, that still sounds so strange coming from you."

"What would you rather me call you? Errant pool boy, sadistic neo-Nazi dictator…Spike?"

Illya chuckled. Those days were long passed for both of them. Somehow, they had defied the odds and lived long enough to not only retire from the field, but from UNCLE as well. Neither of them were the men who had started this strange journey so many years earlier, but Napoleon's prediction has been right and true. Nothing ever changed between them. The world moved around them, trapping them in a protective cocoon of love and respect, of caring and regard. Careers, friends, responsibilities came and went, but their love remained the same, strong, committed, forever.


End file.
